The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training || Loki x Reader

Chapter 45

When breakfast is over, Carlie is the first one you have to bid farewell. It's not entirely unexpected; after all, she does have to go to school.

But it hurts all the same.

When you lean down to kiss her cheek, she leaps on you, arms snaking around your neck, pulling you further down so that she can whisper in your ear:

"I'm still rooting for you."

Which, of course, nearly sends you over the edge. You blink back tears as you smile and nod, struggling to avoid eye contact with your parents or Erik as she runs down the walkway to catch the bus. You're still waving at her for a moment after she's gone.

"Seconds?' Mom says, breaking the silence.

All four of you head back to the table, grateful for the distraction. You're spearing another bite of pancake with your fork when Mom speaks up again.

"So, about the event tonight." She reaches over for the syrup bottle, and you pass it. "I hope you don't mind that we RSVP-ed no. I just thought it would be..."

"Event?"

She looks up at you, mid-drizzle. "The ball? Your hometown ball?"

"Oh." Definitely your fault for not reading the itinerary Lady Amara had given you two weeks ago. "Of course. The ball..."

"It sounded like the guests would all be people your own age, and your father and I assumed you wouldn't—"

You hold up a hand, waving away her apology. "I understand."

And that's the last either of you have to say on that.

For about forty five seconds.

"It would be nice, though." Your voice is quiet. "To have you there."

"Oh."

"Not that—I mean, if you don't want to—"

"I mean, I wouldn't want to...we thought it might be a little—"

"He won't be there, Mom."

There's a slight pause.

"He won't?"

She doesn't need to ask who. You all know.

"No." There's no malice in your voice. Just exhaustion. "That's the whole point of...this. The trips home. Time away from the palace. I think he realized how..." Ridiculous? Psycho? Tyrannical? "...how, uh, unreasonable it was to expect us to willingly stay on the palace grounds for years on end."

"Well." She nods. "It's about time."

"Yeah." You look up, catching Erik and Dad's eyes. "So if you all want to come..."

You receive little more response than a chorus of tight smiles.

"We'll be there," Dad finally volunteers. "After all, it's Bean's last night here."

"Might as well make the most of it," Erik concedes.

You give him a close-mouthed smile of your own. But, even as you've techically gotten your way, you can't help but feel, with a sinking feeling, that this may have been the wrong choice after all.

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Your departure from the house goes by without much fanfare. You pack. You hug your parents and Erik goodbye before driving away to a hotel (the fanciest one within driving distance of your little suburban town).

The first real surprise comes when you walk into the hotel room and find Irina, sitting on one of two double beds.

Not that much of a surprise—after all, you'd roomed with people before, on school trips years ago. You hug, and it's a comfort, if a bit awkward, to see someone...well, someone familiar. It's strange, too, watching Irina's mannerisms, her voice and her expressions and the movements of her hands when she speaks—all the things you'd grown accustomed to, now a few weeks distant—on the face and body of someone who looks so modern. Her hair is tied back in a simple ponytail; her outfit of choice, low-rise jeans and a crop top.

You can still understand each other. This is a huge relief, mostly because, if the language spell is intact here, that means you won't have to struggle speaking three languages you don't know.

(And, if you're being entirely honest with yourself, because it perhaps also means Loki is here. In the hotel.)

Thankfully, you don't have much time to unpack that last thought, because then the door opens, and in come Rhea and Rosa, hauling in five pieces of luggage between them.
Just as with Irina, it's jarring to see them in contemporary dress. Rhea shoots you a small smile; Rosa blurts out, "Are you guys in the wrong room or something?"

"Not even a hello?"

Rosa shoots Irina a withering (yet somehow affectionate) look. "Hello, my ladies. We were told we had room 306. So you must be in the wrong room." She waves the key.

Irina, God bless her, snatches her own key off the television table and waves it right back in Rosa's face. "You sure about that?" she taunts. Rosa reaches up to grab the second key; but Irina, who is much taller, has an easy time lifting it out of her reach. "We were here first, genius. I'm pretty sure if anyone's in the wrong place, it's you."
"Ladies." Ah, and here comes Rhea to calm the waters and save the day. "Could we not?"

Except, you realize as three pairs of eyes turn in your direction, that wasn't Rhea. It was you.

"Jesu Maria." Rosa laughs. "Irina and I are big girls, (Y/N). We can sort out our own shit without commentary from the peanut gallery."

You bite back the urge to rise to her challenge. "Fine." She covers up her surprise at your retreat with a smarmy grin, and you can't help but blurt out, "At least call the front desk before you rip each others' heads off."

There's a soft click. You look over to see Rhea, five steps ahead as usual, having just hung the phone back on the wall. She looks troubled. Actually, she looks calm and unruffled as always; but to the three of you, who have lived with her for several years now, it's easy to tell something's wrong.

"Well?" Rosa demands.

Rhea gives you all a tight-lipped smile and a shrug. "It seems we're to share."

"Share?"

"Beds."

"You're joking."

"I know, it's unthinkable."

You look around. "It is?"

"What a disgrace," Rhea mutters, shaking her head as she crosses to sit on the bed closest to the window. You're even more confused than before.
"Wait, what's the big deal?"

"Are you serious?" To her credit, Rosa speaks to you now not with condescension, but what seems like genuine bewilderment. "(Y/N), we've spent three years sleeping in a palace, in the most literal sense of the word palace. One of us is going to be the future queen of the planet. So—"

"So, what, that makes us better than everyone else?" you snap. "What happened to to etiquette? I thought humility was one of the core tenets of monarchy. Respect for the public. For our public."

The other three seem to collectively take on a pensive (if slightly shocked, and more than slightly guilty) look.

"Exactly." You sit cross-legged on the floor and unzip your suitcase, pulling out your travel bag of toiletries. "Now, if we're done here, I'm calling first dibs on the shower. After all, we have a party to get ready for."